


Scratchy Black And White (Frerard)

by BloodSoaked_Rainbow



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Frerard, Letters, M/M, Psychopath
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:40:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29579709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodSoaked_Rainbow/pseuds/BloodSoaked_Rainbow
Summary: (IN PROGRESS BUT I HAVE NO CLUE HOW TO MARK THAT SO IM JUST WRITING IT HERE)My name is Gerard Way, and I am a psychopath.I am not your modern day definition of psychopath: I am not a blood-hungry murderer, or an asylum escapee with a chainsaw. No, I am the clinical definition of a psychopath - I cannot connect emotionally or empathetically with any other human.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Comments: 12
Kudos: 8





	1. Prologue

Hello.

My name is Gerard Way, and I am a psychopath.

I am not your modern day definition of psychopath: I am not a blood-hungry murderer, or an asylum escapee with a chainsaw. No, I am the clinical definition of a psychopath - I cannot connect emotionally or empathetically with any other human.

That may sound weird to you, so let me give you an example. Someone who is a close friend to you has someone close to them die. You would feel sorry for them, right? There are two ways that I am different to you here. The first way is that you have friends, I do not have friends, not even my family counts as my friends. My brother tries to talk to me but he gave up anything beyond a polite relationship after a few years. The second way is that I would not feel sorry for them, I would not manage to connect with them empathetically enough to share their pain.

I only ever feel my own emotions that are caused directly by me, and even then they are often dull and clouded - numb. I do not want your pity, though. I am quite happy living life this way, after all, it is all that I have known, and I am used to it. The only drawback that I experience is that it was incredibly hard for me to find a job, as most jobs include social skills. Luckily for me, the local comic book store was willing to offer me a job, considering how much time I had spent there since I was a child. Everyone at the store is incredibly nice and accepting, and although I do not understand it, it makes me feel what people associate with waves, breeze, and the colour purple. Relaxed, I think the word is.

To be honest, I do not care what people think of me, and therefore when I get dressed in the morning I tend to wear whatever my hand comes into contact with first, and I think that if more people thought like me then they would save a lot of time deciding what to wear. Normally my outfit consists of a pair of dark jeans, a faded band or comic character t-shirt, and a jacket or hoodie. I do not know why that would be of importance to you, but people always seem to want the random details that make no sense to me. Why would you care what I wore? It is simply bits of fabric sewn together with thinner bits of fabric. To be honest, the entire point of storytelling is completely lost to me. But I made a promise, the first promise I have ever made, and I fully intend to keep it. That is why I am doing this. I hope that you will understand when I say that I am not trying to tell a story here, I am simply trying to describe my life and the things which have happened in it the way that I see it.

I am writing this after I have written the first five notes. Then I will send them to you. There will be more notes after these ones. I hope that you understand.

I will not put a "love from" at the end, because it would be a lie.

Gerard Way


	2. 19/05/1998

Hello.

I do not know if you have read my last letter, I probably never will know, and I am not thrown up in the air by a tornado - distressed - by that. If you have read it then this may make more sense, and if you have not then I very much doubt that you will be reading this as well.

I have previously told you about my job in the comic book shop. It is a very good job because it means that I can read comics all day - although I do have to stack shelves and sort stock - and have to talk to very few people, since Ray Toro (the shop owner) hired other people to socialise with the customers. There is a reason to why I am telling you this.

The point is: today a man with black hair and hazel eyes came into the shop. Once again, I do not understand why the details of his appearance would be of importance to you, but everyone besides me seems to think that they are for some reason important, so I will give them to you. The reason that I am commenting on this man is that he ignored the person trying to talk to him and walked directly towards where I was putting new comics on the shelves lining the walls. He then stood next to me while searching for a Batman, nodded at me and walked off. During that time he also said that his name was Frank. I said nothing. He then took his comic to the cashier at the front and purchased it, looked me in the eye and walked out of the shop. I do not know why he thought that it was important that I know his name.

If I were "normal" then maybe I would say that I felt an ominous presence around him, or that he made me get butterflies in my stomach (how can butterflies exist in your stomach. The acid would just kill them all, would it not?). But I am apparently not normal, and therefore I cannot say any of these things.

I can say that although I may see things in colour, I do not see them in colour. I see the actions unfolding around me in black and white, I do not have emotions mixing my view of things. However, although I may see them in black and white, there are infinite tones between those two opposites. And that is what causes me to see things as right or wrong.

Let me give you another example, as I do not think that I am explaining this clearly enough. You see a man taking his life. You feel bad, you think that it is a bad thing, because he has people who love him who will be devastated about what he has done. I do not see any of that. I simply see a man taking his life. Everyone else is the players, and I am the lone spectator. And I do not find that blue, falling empty spaces - loneliness. I hope that I am making sense.

I would like to say that I do not know who you are. You probably do not know who I am either. I am writing to you purely to keep my promise. I have no interest of "fixing" myself, because I do not view myself as broken. I do not know how I do view myself, but it is definitely not as something which need to be "fixed" because I am not "broken". I do not think that anything is ever "broken", it just finishes its purpose and becomes something else.

For example. The suicidal man from earlier. When he jumps from that bridge, he has finished his purpose as a human. He will then have a new purpose, in this case probably to feed water creatures. I do not think that I am making sense anymore, so I shall stop writing for now.

\- Gerard Way


	3. 31/05/1998

Hello.

He was back again today. He tried to engage in conversation with me, and despite my responses being what people normally class as either 'short and boring' or 'too long and detailed to be of interest' we were talking for almost twenty minutes straight. This is rare enough in itself for it to be worth mentioning. You may not understand because you have never tried to talk to me in real life before, correction: you have never tried to talk to me before, even if you are reading these then this is not I talk in real life. Due to my disability to connect with people emotionally, I tend to respond as politely and shortly as possible to anyone who tries to talk to me. There are no exceptions to this because I have no one close to me.

To be perfectly honest, he seems like an honest man. He seems to make everyone be yellow, laughing with your friends - happy - even when he is just in his presence. Obviously, I cannot confirm this, but I have been trying my hardest to gauge how people react around our common customers in the store and that is something that I have noticed. I notice many things. I notice Bert coming in late, and I noticed him smelling horrifically of beer and his face being red and scratchy. I notice Lindsey sneaking dollar bills into her jeans' pocket. I notice Pete and Mikey in the corner, doing things which I do not understand nor do I ever want to understand. I do not think that I will ever feel the need to share saliva with someone else. I do not tell anyone these things. I only ever tell you. And I do not even know if you read these or not.

One thing which makes me red-orange, flames, itchy - irritated - about Frank is how he is always looking into my eyes. I do not find eye contact agreeable. I also do not liked being complimented, as it makes me feel no emotion and therefore I do not know how to respond properly. As I have said before; I do not care how people view me, I do not think that other people's opinions on me matter. This is how I live my life, and I do not think that it will change. Anyway, back to the point. He did both of those things.

Someone who I used to know would tell me of how emotions were like butterflies. To me, emotions are like clouds: sometimes I can see their vague, washed out forms, and other times I see nothing other than empty spaces. With both of those points, I still cannot catch them. I can sometimes vaguely see them, but I still cannot fully comprehend what they mean. I feel like I am repeating myself from my last note, so I shall stop.

The reason that I am writing this is because he asked me to go with him for coffee one day soon.

I am just now realising that I have a very repetitive life. I seem to repeat many things. I have the same schedule each day, I always walk the same way to work, and I often end up repeating the same things in these notes. However, despite the constant structure during my day, I do often tend to go off on random tangents in these notes. Therefore I will now be trying harder to keep it to a more organised and structured form.

Here are a few of my thoughts throughout the day.

Why do people always associate things? Why does yellow become happiness? At what point do they mix?

Why do old things become new? Why are they constantly being changed when they are still used the way they used to be used? Who decides these changes?

Who decides anything? Who decides that a second is a second, that the word 'soap' means the alkaline bar that you wash with?

I do not have anything left to say, and therefore I shall leave it at this.

\- Gerard Way


	4. 3/06/1998

Hello.

I don't think that I told you my response to Frank's proposal. I am going to start referring to him as Frank instead of 'the man' as I feel like he has told me his name and therefore deserves to be called it. Maybe I am overthinking, but it is unlikely. I told him that I would go with him, due to the fact that he managed to keep my attention for more than twenty minutes, and have a conversation during all of it, which if you've met me, you would know is very hard to do. It is very late as I am writing this, so please do excuse any grammar or spelling mistakes.

I am not turquoise, shuddery - nervous - for when we get coffee. I do not know why I would be nervous. Nothing will happen. We may talk and drink coffee, but that will be all. That is all that ever happens. I am considering telling him what I am. although I do not fully connect, my morals are telling me that he has a right to know. I still do not know whether I should or not. I shall decide once I finish writing this.

I think that it is important that I say that I never reread anything that I write; these notes included. Therefore I never know what you might be reading the next day, as a lot of my memory of what I had written will have gone. That is, provided, that you do actually read these. I think that another thing that I should say is that I do not wish to receive any answers to these notes.

I have decided. I am going to tell him. This is a short note. I hope that you do not mind, but I am extremely tired.

\- Gerard Way


	5. 4/06/1998

Hello.

I will start by saying that this is a longer note. I have not written it yet, but I know that it will be.

Frank was very sugar, pastel colours - sweet - when I went out with him for coffee. We talked for a while about comics, about how it was not good that some of the classics from our childhood were beginning to die out, about anything and everything. And after a prolonged silence, I told him. He just looked me in the eye and asked me if I would kill him or hurt him in any way. I said that I would never kill, and that I would never hurt intentionally. He responded with: "well, if you're not going to hurt me then why should I mind? It doesn't make you any less of a really rad and unique motherfucker to hang out with". I think it was meant as a compliment.

He did ask me to do one thing though. And this is where you come in. He asked me if I would mind trying to at least talk about my own emotions, as although he was not me, he was worried about what my mental state would become if I never expressed emotions, which you may have noticed, I am extremely bad at. He then told me about you. He said that you had helped him through a time that he would really rather forget, but would not because it was a part of his past and what made him uniquely him, and that you might help me as well. For some reason unbeknown to me, I promised him that I would.

That was the first promise that I have made my entire life. And I intend to keep it. That is why I am writing these notes even though you probably do not mind about what is happening in my life. The first few notes were started as a way for me to keep track of things which happened to me, but I have now sent them to you. I do not know who I originally wrote them for, perhaps it was for myself, but I am fields of grass, twinkling stars - happy - that I did, because it means that I can give you the full story. That is, once again, provided that you read them all. That is not meant to pressure you, I merely mean that it might make more sense if you start at the beginning and work your way through.

I think that that is how life works, really. In my mind I do not see a point in life. We think in the moment, but at the end, when we are dead, what was the point? You will have completely forgotten about everything that you achieved, you will not need to remember how to conjugate verbs in latin, or how to draw a triangle with a compass, which makes life essentially pointless. And leaves me with another thought. If I cannot see the point in life, maybe it is because I cannot feel the point in life. Maybe the point in life is emotions, living in the moment and relishing in everything that you are feeling, and therefore I would not be able to see the meaning of life, because I am unable to do that. I do not know where I was going with this, but I am hoping that you are understanding why I am saying.

There is one thing that I am confused by. It started this morning, and I had never felt it before. It was tingly, and waiting in the dark for the light to be switched on, and knowing that there was something there but not knowing what it was. Like when normal children have to switch the lights of and then move to their bed in the dark, and they feel like there is something chasing them until they are safe beneath the covers. That is what it feels like. Being chased in the dark by a figment of imagination.

I was not aware of the following until earlier today when I talked to Mikey, and he was telling me about a song of which made him cry. I simply was not aware that that was why people listened to music. I do not recognise the emotions behind the lyrics. I do not see how you can hear them just from the tone of voice. I do not understand how that could make someone cry. I appreciate music. I really do, but it is apparently not for the same reason as everyone else. I appreciate it for its strict settings against an otherwise chaotic world. You see, every song has rules, and I appreciate those rules. I cannot say why, but I do appreciate them.

Frank told me that he wished to become a musician. His favourite bands are interesting. They have slightly different rules. I think that any music made by Frank would be the most interesting thing for me to listen to. One again, I cannot tell you why I think that.

On another note, have I told you how much I appreciate literature? I feel like this is becoming an appreciation letter of some kind but I shall continue to write it, as I have much that I would "appreciate" saying. That is me trying to be amusing, but I do not think that I succeeded. Besides that, let's go back to my first point about literature. Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell is one of the best that I have read. It almost fits me as they do not have negativity, whereas I have both negativity and positivity, but no empathy, which is apparently a necessity in todays society.

Frank has given me a copy of The Catcher In The Rye, and although I normally go to the library as a place to borrow and read books, I think that I shall read this one at home. I do have reasoning for this, although it may not make sense to you as I do not fully understand it, and therefore lack what it takes in order to explain it to you. It seems too personal to be read in that area of my life, so therefore I shall read it in a private space in which only I am permitted to be. The library is the place where I normally read my books as it is quiet and has a feeling of books all around, which I find light orange, familiar - comforting - about being surrounded by the dusty pages, and the fact that I can find any book that I would require or wish to read makes it the perfect place for that activity.

I am wondering why everything is linking back to Frank: possibly because I do not have many other acquaintances who I would willingly talk to for that length of time. It is not that I am antisocial, but that conversations just tend to be grey, stuck inside - boring - for me, considering that I am not able to feel any empathy for them.

I am sure that you are not aware of how different my life is to all of yours. You must be thinking, "oh, that man, he cannot feel any connection to me emotions, but I am sure that he can still enjoy life". You are wrong. We have already covered music, but the same applies to things such as art, poems, books even. I can still read them, but they are aimed to trigger an emotion in you, I does not matter what it is, it could be happiness or sadness or hopelessness, but they all aim for an emotion; a certain empathy for the character. And I lack that. Which causes it to become bland, dull, boring.

The only thing I enjoy about the above mentioned examples is the regularity of the structure. Four beats in a bar, two quavers per crotchet. At least one subject, verb and often an object in a sentence. The obvious regularity in the drawing: the eyes halfway down the face, the ears between the eyes and nose.

I find a sense of security in these rules, as it adds a structure of routine to the things around me. I appreciate routine, and I think Frank does too. He told me that he gets coffee from the same shop at the same time every day. I appreciate that. I think there is something different about him, but I do not know what it is, nor if it is "good" or "bad".

I think that I have run out of things to say that will possibly be of any interest to you.

\- Gerard Way


	6. 25/06/1998

Hello.

I am very strongly aware that it has been a long time since I last wrote to you, but I have become exceedingly more occupied now that a strange man with dyed hair has come into my life. I like his hair, it is soft and shiny. I do not understand how any of this has happened, I never intended for it to become a regular occurrence for me to see him more often than not. 

I was thinking, and I realised another thing. My life recently seems to be filled with epiphanies, but this one interested me, and it may do something similar to you, although I am not sure. Normally I severely dislike when things are out of sync, I dislike when I can’t count the beats because the bass spin and the speaker are too out of sync, I dislike when I see things refracted through glass, as though the world is ripping a part a little and showing it’s true colours, showing it’s true brokenness. However, I was listening to Frank’s band - Pencey Prep - from a video of one of their shows that I had seen online, and my speakers were being extremely behind. And I was watching the video that was about two seconds too fast for the music, and it was almost like there was this space, this space out of sight and only in mind when there is that difference, and it felt like he was with me. 

Although at the time I appreciated it, I severely dislike how much I think about him. Everywhere I look I see reminders of him, and I just wish to have my old life back. I preferred being emotionless to this turmoiling tornado that is being forced into me. I do not understand how people tolerate this whenever they become friends with another human, I would not wish to ever go through this again; it is pain and happiness and I do not understand how they could ever mix like this. But I simultaneously do not want it to stop, I do not ever wish to stop thinking about Frank, I just wish for this mental tearing to end.

It pains me to think, and every time I try to forget about thoughts Frank appears in my mind, almost as if he was with me.

Is this normal? Is it normal to feel like this around other people? I would not know, and I am not sure if I would like to know. I am no longer sure of my thoughts, I no longer see things in black and white. Now it is scratchy, blurred at the edges and I fully acknowledge that this is due to Frank. I fully understand why I never allowed Mikey to force me to mix with others. I do not think that I was aware of what the consequences would be, but I am beginning to realise just how drastic they may be; I have even been feeling new emotions that I did not realise I would ever be feeling.

I do not know how to describe these new intruders, all that I know is that when Frank is gone I feel empty, numb, blue and grey. I do not like this feeling, I much prefer when I am with him and it is glowing amber, warm fires - comfortable. 

I no longer feel as if I have a logical purpose anymore. It is too scratchy and blurry for me to see the plain black and white photo. And I am not sure if I like it.

Maybe I would like a response to this letter. Maybe I would like to know if this truly is normal. You do not have to though, please do not feel pressured to. 

\- Gerard Way


	7. 26/06/1998

Hello.

I am confused. I am stuck in a state of permanent turbulence. And I do not appreciate it.

I do not understand how it is possible for me to feel stronger about a man who I have known for less than two months than the attachment that I feel for someone who I grew up with. I do not understand anything anymore.

I do not understand why I can only feel my heartbeats at certain points. Specifically when I'm with Frank. I do not understand how that works; it is not like I am dead when I am not with him, I am continuously in the same sense of being alive. I do not understand.

I do not understand why I cannot breathe when I first see him; I do not understand where the oxygen goes. I do not understand.

I do not understand why my skin heats up when he touches me; it is not like he is burning me. I do not understand. 

I do not understand anything anymore. I am falling and I do not know why and I do not know where and I do not understand.

I do not understand why I will have spontaneous tears rolling down my face at seemingly random points during the day, I do not understand why I feel green when I see couples sharing sweat between hands held in the others, I do not understand why seeing people share saliva no longer confuses me, I do not understand why I feel a clenching feeling in my heart and blue and green in my head when I see it.

I do not understand.

I do not understand why specific thoughts that I did not think keep appearing my brain. I do not understand why I feel longing towards being with a person when I do not require to be with a person.

I do not understand why I feel longing towards being with Frank when I do not require to be with Frank. 

I do not understand. 

I do not understand.

I do not understand.

Perhaps if I repeat it enough then it will all make sense once again. Perhaps. Perhaps not.

I do not like falling.

It is cold and dark and I do not appreciate knowing what will happen. I do not appreciate not being able to choose where I go and what I do. I do not appreciate it.

I do not understand.

Please help me understand. I do not make a regular occurrence of asking for assistance, but I simply require for me to be able to understand again. Please assist me in this. Please assist me in understanding.

I do not understand why I am asking for assistance. It is not like you can assist. 

I do not understand, so I will stop writing now.

\- Gerard Way


	8. 30/06/1998

Hello.

I am numb once again. I talked to Frank and he took me to a thought doctor (I do not like the word therapist), and he said that I am experiencing symptoms of psychosis and paranoia. Apparently psychosis is a state where you view the world differently, and sometimes it can come with hallucinations and delusions. I do not believe that I have these aspects of psychosis, but I will admit that I do tend to view the world in a different way to the average human being.

I also do not think that I have paranoia, but apparently it is common with new emotions to not understand these and to become confused and upset by it, but I think that the thought doctor was not understanding what I was telling him, as the diagnosis does not seem right. Therefore I have been taking mild psychosis medication but any paranoia medication is being left in my bathroom and I am not touching it.

I cannot tell if I like being numb anymore, because the thoughts are still there they are just harder to find and harder to make leave. But I appreciate thinking about Frank, he makes me feel purple and warm - safe. But I do not appreciate the thoughts that come with the other thoughts. I am not sure anymore.

I only wrote to tell you about the thought doctor, but I do not think that it is that interesting to you. Make I will stop taking the medication. Maybe I will continue. 

\- Gerard Way


	9. 05/07/1998

Hello.

I was introduced strangely today. He introduced me as “my friend, Gerard”. It has always just been “Gerard”. I do not know where the “my friend” came from. I do not know how I feel about it. I think that I will make my decision once I have finished writing these scratches into paper that you shall then read and comprehend as words. That is if you even read these.

Did I make you aware that he dyed his hair pink? I do not think that I did, but he bought the dye and dyed it with me. Once it had finished he looked in the mirror and laughed, but I do not understand why he laughed. I do not think that he sees himself how other people see him, but when he walked me home he definitely noticed all of the stares he got.

Every time I saw him after that my stomach felt like it was dropping down a mining chute, but I know that it can’t be because it is still in my body. The same happens with my heart, it feels like it jumps a beat into the sky but it can’t because it is still beating in my chest and I am still alive. 

Do you know how perfect his face is for drawing? It fits all of the rules, his jaw is flat and perfect, his eyes are equal and perfect, his nose turns up the slightest bit to add the slightest bit of difference.  
I think I am going to talk to Mikey about this, because he might understand how socialising is meant to feel. The thought doctor is incompetent and I will continue to go but I doubt that anything will come out of it apart from the medication that is required for me to feel how I used to instead of like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz.

Frank has been making a lot of older films, especially musicals and horror films. I cannot tell whether I like them or not, but it is quite interesting, possibly even amusing when Frank is sat next to me giving me a running commentary on what is happening.

He played his guitar for me, and my face stretched peculiarly in ways that I did not know was possible. I am presuming that it was me smiling, but I have never done that before. The light shone on him in perfect ways as he played; it was refracting through the slats of the blinds on my window and setting golden light against every unruly pink hair, making them shine orange as he threw himself about the room.

I think that he likes my residence, when he first entered it he spent a while looking around the hallway which was just plane panelled wood with bookshelves, but I think that he liked it nonetheless. The rest of my apartment is very similar, plain wooden panelled floors, bookshelves crammed into every area possible. The walls between bookshelves are light grey, and my kitchen has dark grey tiles across the bottom half of the walls. He compared it to a library, if I remember correctly. 

That was a long time ago, however. Now he is here two or three days a week, and I am at his the same amount. I am still trying to understand how much time I should aim to spend with him in order to achieve a normal relationship, as I still have only a very brief and literal understanding of ‘friends’.

I think I will go and ask Mikey about what he believes that I should do in order to understand my relationship with Frank. Hopefully he will assist me, if he is not too busy doing strange and unnecessary things with Pete, which I expect includes a lot more than just sharing saliva. I do not think that I would ever wish to do any of it. There is no _need_ to exchanged bodily fluids.

\- Gerard way


End file.
